


bathtime

by determination



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, brief cameos from gladio and ignis but not worth tagging lol, injured prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 20:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/determination/pseuds/determination
Summary: Prompto accidentally hurts his arm during a hunt and a certain prince offers to help him clean up after the fight.





	bathtime

**Author's Note:**

> aaa this is my first ffxv fic skdjgh me and my twin recently beat the game and i completely fell in love with the characters (and this pairing;;) so i couldn't help but use one of my personal favorite tropes (intimate+non-sexual bathing) for these sweet boys  
> hope this is enjoyable! thanks for reading, and please no criticism or critiques!

For all his experience as a fighter, Prompto supposes his instincts still aren't as sharp as they should be. He felt it keenly while the impact of the Behemoth's horn tore through the oh-so-tender skin of his left arm, and he feels it keenly now as he observes the bandaged arm, aware that any attempt of moving it will produce a searing ache in the fresh wound.

As Ignis had said, "curatives will only do so much." Prompto knows he's right, but that doesn't stop the twinge of regret and annoyance of having lost the function of one of his limbs. He needs that arm! Sure, it'll probably heal soon anyway, but the loss is untimely at best, and a downright nuisance at worst. At least he can still fight with his gun, otherwise he'd be... well, useless.

That thought puts a damper on his already dwindling mood, even despite the fact that he received the injury protecting Noctis. That’s the silver lining, really. Perhaps it was rash, but all he could think at the time was to ensure that Noctis wasn't the one impaled by the berserk creature. 

It wasn't that he didn't believe Noctis could defend himself. But he saw that Noctis was preoccupied dealing with a newly arrived fleet of magitek soldiers, and Prompto did the only thing he could do, which was, however reckless and unfortunate, use his body as a shield. 

He certainly wasn't Gladio, that's for sure. Collapsing for the rest of the fight, in his opinion, detracted significantly from the heroic act, as he could do little else than clutch his arm and stem the bleeding before Ignis, having dispatched the remaining magitek bots, quickly found him and gave him the strongest potion he had on hand. It eased the pain and seemed to help close the wound, but moving was out of the question. He could only watch on in awe as Noctis, a blaze of magic and arsenal of weapons on full display, obliterated the Behemoth in a series of calculated blows. 

His cheeks grow warm as he recalls the concern on Noctis' face when he returned to Prompto's side before the monster even hit the ground, all soft questions and gentle touches to make certain that Prompto was alright. 

"I'm fine!" Prompto had assured him, despite the unceremonious grimace that flashed across his face as Ignis helped bandage his arm. "Maybe I'll even get a cool scar out of this, like Gladio!"

"Don't press your luck, kid," Gladiolus shot back at him, expression a mixture of amusement and worry. 

Now, he sits on the edge of the bathtub in the hotel room they'd rented, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt with his free hand. He's still covered in mud and dust from the long fight, being incapable of washing himself in his current state. 

As if on cue, the bathroom door opens and Noctis lets himself in. "Sorry about the wait," he mutters with a long suffering sigh, "Gladio roped me into a quick shopping trip. Didn't mean to keep you waiting."

Prompto shrugs, wincing when the motion produces a sharp pain in the crook of his elbow. "It's fine," he says, "After all, it's not like you're obligated to do this. I appreciate your help, though." He smiles, which Noctis returns as he crosses over to start filling the tub. 

When they'd gotten to the hotel, the others took turns washing. Noctis, having finished first, offered to help Prompto clean up once Gladiolus and Ignis were done. The offer wasn't unwelcome, per se, and it wasn't that Prompto needed much convincing, but the idea of being in such a vulnerable state of undress, and allowing Noctis to touch him... It was a lot to process. 

Especially now, when he's watching Noctis fiddle with the water temperature, knowing full well he'll have to take his clothes off in a moment. 

He's not sure which god to pray to in the hopes that he gets through this. Should he attribute the most likely blatant blush on his cheeks to the heat and steam now filling the room? Maybe this was a bad idea. Sleeping in dirt wouldn't be so bad, he reasons. He can just tell Noctis not to worry about it and then he won't have to think about what Noctis might think upon seeing his naked body-

"Is the temp alright with you?" Noctis' voice instantly draws him out of his thoughts. He tries to ignore the hammering in his chest as he leans over, closer to Noctis (too close!) to test the water with his uninjured arm. It doesn't feel anywhere near as hot as his face, so he figures it's probably fine. 

"Good, thanks," he gives a thumbs up. 

"Cool." Noctis straightens and dries his hand on his towel hung on the rack on the adjacent wall. "Uh... I'll look away if you wanna... y'know, get in." His face is a little rosy, Prompto notes. Should he attribute that to the heat, too?

With a determined exhale, Prompto sets to work shedding his clothes. He manages to shrug out of his jacket without much trouble, but his shirt itself poses a new problem. He tries a few times and fails to pull it over his head with only one arm. To his dismay, it's impossible to tug the shirt up and keep his injured arm steady at the same time. A new wave of pain washes over the limb. With a grimace and pointed reluctance, he glances from his torso to Noctis, whose back currently faces him. 

He takes a deep breath, sighs, and tries to rid his nerves as he timidly speaks to his companion. "Uh, Noct...?"

"Yeah?" Noctis doesn't turn around. In the now fogging up mirror Prompto can see him picking at his fingernails. 

"I uh... I can't..." he swallows hard, steels himself. "I can't get my shirt off."

Noctis freezes. "Oh." 

Prompto's thankful for the loud sound of the water filling the tub, otherwise he thinks the silence alone might have felled him. 

After another beat, Noctis moves to face him. The tips of his ears are red, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck before stepping closer. Prompto's breath hitches as Noctis' fingers gently curl into the fabric of Prompto's tank. "... Let me know if this hurts your arm," Noctis murmurs. 

And then he's lifting the article up, slowly, almost painfully slow, revealing the milky skin of Prompto's toned abdomen. With every inch of skin that becomes visible, Prompto feels himself turning redder. He swears he sees Noctis's eyes linger on the muscles, sweeping up to his chest as Prompto gingerly moves his arm to allow the shirt to be tugged over his head. Noctis sets the offending article atop the jacket Prompto had discarded, then averts his gaze. "Can you manage the rest?" he asks quietly.

Prompto hastily assures his friend he'll be fine, watching as Noctis once more turns away from him to allow him the privacy of removing the rest of his clothes. Once done, he wills the blush away and scrambles into the tub, moving to turn off the water with his uninjured arm. 

"Ready!" he announces, cringing at the unnaturally bright tone in his voice. 

"Alright," Noctis turns around again, now approaching the edge of the tub. He kneels and reaches for the hotel shampoo. "You gonna dunk your head or am I supposed to do that part too?"

"On it," Prompto says, balancing on his uninjured arm to dip his hair into the water, careful to keep the bandaged one elevated and therefore dry. 

The water feels nice, a welcome, relaxing sensation after the hectic fight earlier. He tries to focus on that as Noctis' hands begin to work the shampoo into his hair, but it's like fighting a losing battle. 

Noctis' hands feel  _ heavenly _ , not too gentle yet not too rough. He works his fingers through Prompto's hair methodically as if the action were a massage. Prompto almost feels like he could purr in satisfaction, but he somehow manages to withhold any noise threatening to escape his throat. It isn't long before he feels like putty in Noctis' hands, shoulders slumped as he braces his back against the side of the tub and lets Noctis work his magic. 

"Rinsing time," Noctis says, dipping his dangerously skilled hands into the water to wash away the remnants of the shampoo.

"Got it," Prompto repeats in a daze, slowly shifting to lower his head into the water where Noctis resumes work washing the product from Prompto's hair. 

Hair washing aside, Noctis moves on to Prompto's torso. It's time... the dreaded moment when Noctis begins scrubbing dirt first from the sensitive skin on the back of his neck, before moving to his shoulders and back. This, too, seems much more enjoyable (and almost unbearable) than Prompto would have expected. Once again, he surrenders himself to Noctis' touch. 

Before long, he's surprised to feel bare fingers brush his skin. He jumps a little and hurriedly glances back toward Noctis, who had abandoned the cloth he'd been using. He shudders as Noctis' fingers sweep down between his shoulder blades, tracing the skin almost reverently.

"Wh-what're you-?" Prompto starts to ask, but his voice catches, in light of the sensation of Noctis seemingly drawing patterns into the middle of his back. 

"Freckles," is all Noctis' offers in explanation. His fingers ghost along the skin, sending another shudder down Prompto's spine. 

He wants to ask for clarification, but the feeling is enticing, a certain tenderness carried within each gentle touch. Giving up on words, he leans back into the contact, savors the kind warmth of Noctis' hands.

"I'm glad you're okay, Prompto," his companion breaks the silence again, voice quiet but full of affection. Prompto's heart skips a beat.

"Why wouldn't I be? It was just a scratch," he tries to lighten the mood, tries to ignore the pounding in his ears. 

"A scratch?" Noctis repeats with an incredulous laugh. "Seriously, have some more concern for yourself."

Prompto shrugs, careful not to disturb his arm. "My concern is reserved for you, Noct. You know I can handle a flesh wound if it means you're safe." He hopes he doesn't sound too corny. Noctis squeezes his shoulders with both hands. 

"I appreciate that," he murmurs, "but I hate thinking you were hurt due to my negligence out there. If I'd been paying more attention, you wouldn't have needed to-"

Prompto cuts him off. "Whoa, hey, you're not blaming yourself, are you? 'Cause it's not your fault, Noct. I'm just glad I got the chance to actually be useful for once."

Noctis clicks his tongue. Is he annoyed, Prompto wonders. He appears to take a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking again, voice soft but with a scolding edge. "I get that, I really do... But Prom, you don't... you don't have to risk your life for me just to be useful. All I need is for you to be here. That's all."

If possible, Prompto feels like his face has gotten even warmer. He's not really sure what to take away from that sentiment, and all he can really tell for sure is that it makes his insides feel like mush and his heart feel like it's lodged in his throat. 

"I'll... I'll, uh, keep that in mind," he mumbles lamely. He's even more aware of the ticklish feeling of Noctis' touch now, every brush of fingertips sparking another stutter to his heart beat. "Thanks, Noct," he thinks to add. Knowing how much Noctis struggles with expressing himself, he can't help but feel grateful that the prince had shared this with him, even if he can't figure out what to make of it.

Noctis grunts a response, but falls silent again. He traces new patterns across Prompto's back and shoulders. Prompto is almost positive he must be able to see and feel how flushed and heated Prompto's skin has become, but that doesn't seem to deter him.

In fact, Prompto is yet again startled into jumping when he feels something else soft and cool touch the back of his neck. Noctis' hands, which had felt aimless before, now find hold around his shoulders, and Prompto shudders as Noctis' lips press once more to the sensitive skin. Any words he wants to speak die in his throat, the sensation overriding all of his other thoughts.

Noctis' kisses are as delicate as his touches, bordering hesitant as he awaits some kind of response from Prompto. If he says or does nothing, will it be taken as a rejection? Prompto would hardly want that, but he's so overwhelmed that he can't figure out what to do.

"If you don't like this, tell me to stop." Noctis is quiet, his breath ghosting against Prompto's neck where his lips are still lingering. 

Those words and the accompanying shiver they send down Prompto's spine spur him to action, and he hurriedly finds his voice. "Don't stop!" But he regrets the overly eager edge in his voice, growing more flustered as he amends, "If- if you want to, that is!"

Noctis chuckles softly at that, a reassuring sound. Prompto tries to relax, which proves difficult as Noctis resumes pressing tantalizing kisses to the back of his neck. He's unsure what to do with himself, unsure if Noctis wants some kind of reaction out of him, unsure what any of this even means. 

The progression had been... Noctis' attempt to blame himself for Prompto's injury, then from Prompto's self-deprecating comment to Noctis' kind statement about his worth, Noctis touching the freckles on Prompto's back (??), to...  _ this _ . He wonders if he's drawing the kind of conclusion Noctis wants him to, or maybe it's just wishful thinking. 

The former definitely seems more promising when Noctis's hands move to cup his face, gentle thumbs wiping dirt from the skin. He tilts Prompto’s head to plant soft kisses along his cheek before reaching his lips. It's more than enough for Prompto to ignore the slightly uncomfortable kink in his neck. He sighs contentedly against Noctis' mouth, all previous worries melting away as he's given the chance to observe the dazzling shade of pink adorning Noctis' cheeks. It's a prettier sight than anything Prompto's ever seen.

Prompto shifts to relieve the odd angle his neck had been in, then slowly leans in to meet Noctis' lips again. He desperately wants to reach up and hold his companion, but he withstands the urge in favor of not accidentally soaking the prince with his wet hand. 

When Noctis starts to pull away, Prompto follows almost too eagerly, which earns him an amused laugh that makes his skin tingle. "We should finish cleaning you up," Noctis says with a lopsided grin, but he doesn't move from his current position of cradling Prompto's face. 

"Y...yeah," Prompto mumbles, mesmerized. If this is special treatment because he got hurt, he almost wonders if he should injure himself more often. That wouldn't really be fair to Noctis, though, especially after he so earnestly expressed his desire for Prompto to remain out of harm's way. Plus, he wouldn't want to continue being a burden.

Prompto starts to turn away, but Noctis surprises him, catching him by the shoulders. "Back's all clean," Noctis murmurs, eyeing his torso with something Prompto might identify as desire, "Let's tackle the front, shall we?" 

Prompto gulps. A small nod is all he can muster. 

He almost breathes a sigh of relief when Noctis retrieves the abandoned cloth. He definitely doesn't think he could handle Noctis' bare hands touching his chest. 

That relief, however, is short-lived. After the precursory wipe down, he feels the now familiar sensation.

Noctis' touch is still the same gentle, exploratory brush of fingertips as before, although regrettably this skin is much more sensitive than Prompto's back. It takes even more effort to stop himself from making any noise, and he bites his lip to keep quiet. 

To his surprise, Noctis really does seem to have taken interest in his freckles, searching and locating each one with a delicate press of fingers. He wonders briefly if Noctis is counting them. 

And then, soon after, Noctis connects their lips again. Perhaps it had been a mistake to work so hard to stay silent, because the groan that escapes him now is almost obscene. Noctis' eyes widen considerably and he pulls back, instantly alert.

"S-sorry, I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks, clearly concerned. Hurt? Prompto has to rack his brain to understand the question, belatedly remembering his injured arm. Ah, did Noctis think he'd aggravated the wound somehow? 

"Not at all," Prompto assures him. He can feel hot blush stain his cheeks as he realizes too late what his explanation should entail. "I, um... that is... my, uh..." he trails off, swallowing hard as Noctis continues to gaze at him. There's really no way to say this that won't embarrass him, is there. With a resigned exhale, he tries again. "It wasn't a, uh... It wasn't a noise of pain."

"Wasn't...?" Noctis blinks, seeming to take a moment to process his words. Then, the realization following produces a noticeably darkening color at the tips of his ears. "O-oh." He mutters, averting his gaze. 

Prompto immediately starts to panic. Had his statement made Noctis uncomfortable? He hadn't thought it through, at least not past the desire to assuage his friend's fear that he'd caused him pain. The last thing he'd want is to ruin the atmosphere that lead up to this, not when Noctis had been so sweet and gentle to him. 

After a short pause, Noctis meets his eyes again. There's a light of determination in them that makes Prompto's heart skip a beat. "Would it... help if I continue?" he asks quietly. The tone of his voice makes Prompto feel lightheaded, and destroys his irrational worries in one fell swoop.

Struggling to find his voice, he musters up a response. "... Yeah, I think so."

There's a moment of silence. Then, Noctis has leaned in, once more catching Prompto in a tender kiss. This time, Prompto doesn't stop his low hum of delight, enjoys the way Noctis seems to react to the noise by kissing a bit deeper. One of Noctis' hand rests against the back of his neck to pull him closer, the other braced against the edge of the tub to keep himself steady. 

Prompto almost forgets how to breath. All he can focus on is the softness of Noctis' touch, the sensation of his lips now eliciting small, needy noises from Prompto's mouth. He wants this to last forever.

Unfortunately, to his dismay, it doesn't. 

All too fast, there's a pounding at the door, Gladiolus's loud voice demanding, "Are you guys almost done? I need to take a leak," Noctis breaks away abruptly, and Prompto, who'd been almost solely relying on Noctis to keep him upright, slips and bangs his injured arm on the side of the tub, yelping pitifully. 

"Shit, are you okay??" Noctis chooses to ignore Gladiolus, instead gingerly helping Prompto back to a sitting position. 

"Y-yeah," Prompto says through gritted teeth, an unconvincing response what with the way his arm is now soaked and throbbing. "F-fine..."

Noctis sighs, shoots a glare toward the door, then reaches up to pat the top of Prompto's head. "Clean enough. Let's get you dried off, and then we'll change those bandages," he says, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. 

In spite of the pain, Prompto can't help protesting. That would mean an end to the moment! And after the kiss had just gotten good, too! "But-"

Noctis effectively cuts him off with his lips, Prompto's complaint dissolving into a happy sigh. "This... isn't gonna be a one time thing, y'know," the prince tells him, voice laced with affection.

"Oh." 

Prompto feels silly for his outburst. Noctis doesn't seem to mind, though. He unplugs the tub and offers his arms to help Prompto to his feet. 

Prompto feels his face heat up again, suddenly remembering his current nudity. That, too, doesn't seem to bother Noctis, who simply holds a towel out for him as Prompto carefully steps out of the tub. 

"Stay still," Noctis says as he gently wipes water droplets from Prompto's chest, shoulders, and face, before tugging the towel up to rub Prompto's hair. Prompto complies, but grows flustered thinking about the fluffy mess his hair will become when Noctis is done. 

Contrarily, when Noctis removes the towel to drape it over Prompto's shoulders, he gives a satisfied nod and uses the ends of the towel to pull Prompto close to him and plant a kiss to the tip of his nose. "Cute," he says. Prompto feels like his face is on fire. He's not sure how much more of this pampering his heart can take. "Will you be fine to dress yourself?" Noctis asks. Scratch that, maybe a little more would be fine. 

"Don't think so. I could use some help," he pouts. Noctis quirks a brow at him. On second thought, maybe it's a little rude to try and coerce the prince's help. Shouldn't it be the other way around? 

In spite of his last second misgivings, though, Noctis has already reached for the pile of clothes. "Fine with me," he smirks. 

Gods, that should be illegal. Where did that confidence come from, anyway? Seriously not good for Prompto's heart. 

Or maybe it's good for his heart, he can't say for certain. Noctis is giving him butterfly kisses for each article of clothing they put on him, the ache of his injury long forgotten.


End file.
